


Turnabout Is Fair Play

by OurUnforeseenTragedy



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Eventual Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Minor Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin, Past Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurUnforeseenTragedy/pseuds/OurUnforeseenTragedy
Summary: Alex waited.





	Turnabout Is Fair Play

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when struck by the Muses. I do know where I want to go with this, but who knows what the future may hold.
> 
> Un-beta'd

Turnabout is fair play. So it goes. Maybe Alex deserves it.

He finally gets up from his position, body protesting with every move, and checks his watch one last time. 2357.

Michael lied.

It hurts, but so has everything else.

Alex gets into his car with painstaking effort. Going to the cabin, popping a muscle relaxer, and fading off into the false land of the unconscious are good ideas. He should probably take a shower before that, just to get the grit of the day off of him.

It doesn’t make sense why he’s so tired. All he did today was sit around, pace a bit, stare at the sun as it made its journey across the sky, watched the moon rise. He feels like he just went through a heavy day of PT, bone weary and aching.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t take his turn toward the cabin. Maybe that’s why he started driving toward the Wild Pony.

Obeying his apparent subconscious desires, Alex parks and walks toward the front doors through the empty parking lot, an island made of a singular floodlight. If he’s limping a bit, that’s his business and no one else’s. He tries the handle, without any luck.

He knocks on the door and waits for a while.

He knocks again. And waits.

He’s gotten sick of waiting hours ago.

Alex pulls the key out from the unscrewable hose head, connected to a nonexistent water supply. There’s another hose around back for cleaning and spraying down the particularly drunk. He would know. He helped Maria install the fake head when he was on leave one time.

He unlocks the door, opening it and stepping inside.

Alex sees them just through the entryway.

Michael and Maria.

They’re intertwined with each other, only existing within the other's embrace.

And Alex—

Alex knows these feelings.

This wild panic running just below his skin, yelling at him to _get out._The pain he’s felt in the center of his chest whenever Michael is involved. The scream he wants to let loose, to be heard, to plead for help, trapped inside his throat, this gate guarded by his own brain. The fiery inferno of anger and desolation of a betrayal of a close friend. The warm wetness of tears, the tremble of his lip, the tightness in his jaw.

All of these, Alex is familiar with. He’s just never felt all of them at the same time.

Somehow, he makes it outside without making a sound, without breathing too loud, without them hearing the fortress around his heart implode.

Alex can’t. He just… can’t.

He feels his face go slack, feels the tension in his body ratchet up by a multiplier of ten. He steps to a tempo only he can hear and pulls himself into the driver’s seat.

Then suddenly he’s home, stumbling out of his car. He can feel his face contort, but it slackens once again. There will be time for that later.

He walks toward his door and up the steps. His leg is starting to fail.

He makes it inside. He takes a muscle relaxant. He takes off his prosthetic. He strips his clothes, he sits in the chair, and he turns the water on.

Finally, Alex shatters.


End file.
